Thursday 10 November 2011

The jajabor moves on

The news of Bhupenda's death came as a shock -- you expect some things and some people to last forever, one simply does not reckon with their not being there. I was numbed by the news but reasoned with myself, if he was sufferring in hospital for so many months, then it was better for him to be spared more pain. In any case, he was living in Mumbai for the last years, and although he did come to Assam often he seemed to have somehow moved on. In fact I doubt how many people in Assam really knew (or really cared about the fact) that he was in hospital for the last so many months.

But the Assamese people did not seem ready to let go of him,even in death,

if the unbelievable public outpouring of grief of the Assamese people at the news, is any indication. I could not restrain my tears either, but asked myself what it was about Bhupenda or about the Asamiya people that had brought about this incredibly emotional reaction from so many. True his songs had touched many hearts, true his deep melodious voice was haunting and unforgettable, true he had become a legend in his lifetime by singlehandedly winning Assam a place of pride at the national level,true he had achieved much more than any other Asamiya has in postindependent India, but still... it is hard to really understand or explain what one saw happening in Guwahati these last days.

Some time back I had tried to write a dissertation about Assamese identity and what it could be. Playing back and listening to some of Bhupenda's songs again these last days I think I know now what was missing in my dissertation -- for the events of the last days have made it clear that if any one person could be thought to be representative of and to symbolise Assamese-ness today to the rest of the world, then it was Bhupenda -- he was Assam's identity in the big world outside. And to the Asamiya, he was their conscience-keeper. He often said unpleasant and harsh things about the Asamiya, but they could not be offended by him, because they knew that he spoke the truth, he was like an X-ray that laid the Asamiya bare -- there was nothing they could hide from him... Assam has not always treated him well, he has also not always been loyal to Assam, but in death, no quarrels remain, by shedding so many tears the people of Assam have told him that everything is forgiven, and that they will always remember and cherish him in their hearts, for all that he has given them.

I do not know what he would have made of this massive show of love and respect if he could have known while he was still alive that this would happen. Would he have been happy? Although one can only respect and be astounded by this spontaneous outpouring of grief, it does have a sense of belatedness about it, doesn't it? After all, how many of us made any effort to tell him that we cared while he was still alive? What good can all our tears do him now? Why then are we crying? Are we crying today because we are feeling sorry, not just for him, but also for ourselves? Is it because we are feeling orphaned, vulnerable, insecure, because we no longer have his strict yet loving and caring hand over us? And if that is the case, does it not show how selfish and small we all are? And with this present demonstration we have proved once more what we already knew for a fact, that we are a very emotional people...

But are we nothing more? Is it enough to be just emotional? If we really wanted to show him our respect and admiration,one thing we could do besides crying is to resolve to listen to and to follow his message -- his message about what is wrong with our society and how we could rectify it, his message of love, of humanity and of brotherhood, his message of fighting against injustice and against all kinds of oppression...only then would we have made sure that he did not sing his heart out in vain, and that he will live on even in death... if we really love him so much he deserves much more than just our tears, we have to promise that we shall not let him down... that even without him to show us the way and to remind us of our duty, we will strive towards creating that Xonar Assam that he dreamt of and wanted to conjure up to gift to all of us... But are we ready for this?




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Wednesday 9 November 2011

Four countries in a month

Between mid September and mid October 2011 I visited four countries, physically perhaps not very far from each other, but each with their own unique and very different story to tell...


First stop was the splendid city of Vienna, which once again made me stand and stare speechless at the quiet and dignified grandeur of many of its avenues, its buildings and its public places. I was there to attend the annual conference of the German Anthropologists and there was plenty of food for thought and discussion. Sitting in the anonymous comfort of being at such a large gathering and listening to some excellent lectures I couldn't help feeling that it was only appropriate that Vienna was hosting such an event -- a city with so much history, so much to offer in terms of culture and the arts, hosting a meeting to dicuss what culture and civilisation could mean... it really did seem as if one only needed to look around that astonishing city to be able to fill such terms with sense and meaning...

However, we were a bunch of anthropologists trying to understand not only the high culture that Vienna had to offer but also 'other cultures'. But if anyone had asked me if I understood anything at all about Afghan culture I would have had to shake my head and try to change the subject. More so after this last trip to Herat and Kabul -- the second stop in my travels. I have not been back in Afghanistan in the last three years -- but the change I saw there this time really broke my heart -- I am a coward, I know, but I doubt that I will ever find the courage to go back there again. It is natural to be stunned by a beautiful building or be moved by a fantastic piece of art, but how does one cope with so much unnecessary and totally avoidable tragedy? I know I'm not making sense, perhaps its better to just stop here.

Many things went wrong right from the moment we landed there (with the assassination of Rabbani taking place right on our first day) but still it would have been okay if I somehow could convince myself that no matter what their leaders or the fundamentalists did, the ordinary Afghans are good and innocent people. But unfortunately I can't. There is a lot that does not make any sense to me, and it is not just that I do not trust my understanding of the Afghans I am not sure I understand anyone else any better either. I came back with an overpowering sense of sadness, sadness at the incredible waste, sadness at the destruction of so much that was good, sadness at the loss of innocence of a simple and loving people...

Before I could recover from that I was off to Helsinki to attend another conference, this time of the Finnish anthropologists. And the difference was not just the weather; the quiet unhurried calm of the Finns, which can only come from an assurance and confidence in their futures, made starker the contrast between a world at peace and one at war with itself. More than being able to savour and relish those crisp and clear autumn days in Helsinki, more than being able to enjoy the lovely day out mushroom-picking with old friends in the woods just outside the city, whatever I did there only served to deepen my sense of tragedy at the senselessless and idiocy of most of what I had seen and heard in Herat and Kabul.

So it was good to have a few days off to sort myself out, sitting in the book-filled library of the religion and folklore department in the University of Tartu,enjoying the friendly but not demanding company of my host and his colleagues, living those few days like a student again, responsible only for myself. Being told that my work was good after I had made my presentations, and being left alone at other times to do as I pleased in that pretty little university city, shimmering golden in the autumn sunshine, did me good -- I worked in the library mornings and afternoons, went for walks, visited quaint little museums, chatted with friendly colleagues and students, and just let myself be...

By the time Stephan joined me in Tartu I was back to being able to feel and be happy again. We spent the last two days in Tallinn, the capital of Estonia, and believe me, it is hard to iamgine a prettier, more lovable city -- Tallinn has everything -- history, the sea, incredibly nice people, intriguingly different sights with amazing stories connected with them, old and new, traditional and modern -- I can't think of a nicer place at the moment.

So much so that by the time I got back home, my faith in human beings again and in the essential goodness of the human heart and the kindness of the human spirit had been more or less restored. But while this therapy worked for me, I wonder what, if anything at all, can work in that beautiful but unhappy land called Afghanistan...



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